


The Readiness is All

by ConcentratedMatter



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (In that some of the characters' actions can be seen as a form of suicide but nothing graphic), Angst, Angst with a happy ending?, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Panic Attacks, Tragedy, loss of bodily control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConcentratedMatter/pseuds/ConcentratedMatter
Summary: It took them hours to scour the institute, to destroy Shoin's machinations and find the man behind the curtain. Yet it takes less than a minute to successfully complete the mission, and for everything to fall apart.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Azu
Comments: 19
Kudos: 57





	The Readiness is All

It took them hours to scour the institute, to destroy Shoin's machinations and find the man behind the curtain. Yet it takes less than a minute to successfully complete the mission, and for everything to fall apart. 

The echoes of the explosion fade to silence as the dust settles, and Hamid is kneeling among the remnants of the battlefield. 

He knows what happened, saw them fall one by one until it was just him and Shoin. And now his heart is pounding in his chest as if it wants to account for all their missing heartbeats. 

Trembling, he gets up and finds his companions. Stumbles over to Azu's form on the ground. Azu, his best friend, compass in a sea of turmoil, so vibrantly alive and strong and good, who loves which such reckless abandon that it makes his own heart ache. He kneels among the devastation and softly wipes the dust from her face, searches his bag for a potion of healing, tips it against her soft lips and waits. Whispers reassurances to deaf ears. But her chest does not rise, her pallor does not change. 

His mind races, searching for impossible solutions, adding white noise to a background of barely contained panic. 

He goes to the others. Finds Zolf's broken form half-buried underneath the remnants of some great Shoin machine. Tries another potion, but as his hands clutch at Zolf’s tunic, willing him to wake up, all he sees is the pain etched upon his friend’s face. Wonders if he suffered - in the end. 

He seals that thought far away from his mind, carefully skirting around the horror of it all - too vast to comprehend.

Cel is peaceful almost, lying on their back, their face and hair untouched, a small pool of chemicals leaking out from smashed vials underneath their coat. The mechanical crossbow in pieces besides them. Hamid stands there, defeated. Stares at his trembling hands.

They've reverted back, scorched and bloody, but he can still feel arcane energy brimming underneath the surface of his skin, awaiting his call. His chest aches with regret, loathing every single time his fingertips lashed out with destructive power instead of gentle flowing divine energy. 

He is so unlike the others. 

Why is it him, here at the end? He cannot heal. He cannot help. Cannot plead with gods to release his friends from their realms. 

_Useless, useless, useless._

Eventually he finds his way over to Shoin, his body nothing more than charred remains cast asunder below the mechanical monster he was puppeting. He feels no anger as he hovers his hand over the corpse, an almost passive desire to see the man erased flicking through his mind as bright arcane energy gathers in his palm. Yet, he lets the energy quiver and fade, stands there, wordlessly. Hears the sloshing of water in the other room, the groaning of expanding metal after the heat of the blast. Hears the tinkling of a window as it further splinters into the fractured remains of the room. 

He lowers his hand, stumbles over to a viewing window, glass crunching beneath his shoes. He clutches one of the metal supports and looks out into the darkness of the sea, the dull glow of phosphorescent light illuminating the outline of a ship that was drowned by a storm long ago. Not idly does the violence of today remind him of the aftermath of such a tempest, erasing lives without thought nor care. 

The slow immutable terror crawling up his consciousness drowns out all other sound as his eyes wander, and it’s Skraak’s body, tiny and fragile, tossed to the side like some broken doll, that finally snaps something inside him. He collapses on the floor among the glass, all the tension finally releasing in a wave of unfathomable regret at the cost to get here. 

Alone, he weeps.

\--

He's sitting cross-legged, his back to the rest of the room in front of the thick viewing windows. Far above, he knows the storm is still raging, but down here it is calm. He's staring at the stone in his hand, turning it over, and over, and over.

The funny thing is, he's fine. Some wounds, scratches and cuts. But _fine._ He checked.

He wished it had been worse. It would've made the call so much easier if it had been worse. If he had required immediate help, for someone to come get him.

(He wished it had been worse. So he could've laid himself down next to Azu, hugged her one last time, and waited.)

An eon passes and he doesn't call for anyone. He is only dully aware of the passage of time. Wonders if Wilde has started the tunnel assault yet to serve as a distraction for their escape. Wonders about Cel's assistant, Jasper, worried on the other side of the raging sea. 

Wonders about his family, halfway across the world. 

Darkness surrounds him and still he does not make the call.

When he was in school, he had spent many nights staring out the window of his dorm room thinking similar thoughts, thinking of his family, of his siblings, hoping they were looking at the same night sky so far away - always this aching loneliness in his chest. Aziza had visited London once, on tour, and he had received permission to watch her performance. It had been a wonderful night, filled with brightness and laughter. 

But it did nothing to save him from the casual cruelty of everyday life. 

When he was in school, he had learned what it took to win, had turned into that which he despised. Only later did he realize the cost. And that despite everything, the aching loneliness still remained. It had not been worth it at all.

He stops turning the stone over in his hand and wipes a hand over his tear-streaked face. He wishes he could see the night sky now. Something to connect to while he ponders the only question still left in his mind; had the cost been worth it?

He feels cold. Panic hitches in his throat.

 _What now?_

A whirlwind of fear and grief grip his mind, his heartbeats building to a cacophonous rushing in his ears as he tries to focus, tries to make himself see a path forward - but the moment shatters when he suddenly becomes aware of movement behind him. 

He doesn't look, grips the stone tightly in his hand. Holds his breath. Waits to hear what he fears.

_Shuffling. Glass cracking under tentative, heavy footsteps._

Then, finally; 

"Hamid?"

The sound locks his limbs into place, anguish and hope and despair all fighting in his chest for dominance. It’s all his nightmares crystallized into reality. 

(He’d known. He’d seen. Hadn’t done anything about it, because his mind had tried to skirt around the possibility, like every other part of this horrifying reality. He’d hoped that he had seen nothing at all. That it wouldn’t come to this.) 

Or... _had_ he actually hoped it would come to this? Was this why he had been waiting?

"Are you all right?"

He breathes out a shuddering breath, closes his eyes, _nononono_ , then... chuckles. 

"No, Azu." His voice cracks. A manic sort of calmness descends upon him. He looks at the stone - lifeline or liability? - then, deliberately, puts it in his pocket and stands up. Steels himself before turning around.

It's her. Armour still glowing, channeling divine energy that he knows should not by right be hers to channel. Not anymore. 

She steps forward, hand outstretched, her face soft with concern. Blood on her temple. He steps back. 

“Don’t touch me, please.” His voice is so soft and raw, but it hits Azu like a slap in the face. 

And it hurts, _gods it hurts_ , despite what he already knows. 

_It’ll be like a dance, then._ He thinks.

\--

Back when they had still been in the cage, more than a fortnight ago, the walls of the basement had been damp, moisture seeping in from the endless rain outside. He’d curled up in his dirty clothes, his robe wrapped around him. He’d remembered borrowing Sasha’s cloak of elvenkind back in Rome. It had hidden him so well among the rubble. 

He stared at his hands, clutching his robe. The magic had faded inside the cage, and he knew the same would’ve happened to Sasha’s cloak. That it would’ve failed to hide him from Zolf or Azu or from anyone else, even if all he wanted was to disappear. But, despite it having been useless, he wished he still had it now. Something of hers, wrapped around him. 

His heart ached, not just for Sasha and Grizzop, but for Azu. He could see her hulking form in the dim light on the other side of the cage. An ocean of silence between them, and far away, the endless patter of rain on rooftops. She wasn’t saying anything. Not to him. Because Zolf was always watching, always listening. But Hamid knew anyway. Could sense the guilt coming off her, washing over him like the rogue waves back on the Channel. Drowning everything else out and once again leaving him adrift, unable to help, unable to say none of it was her fault. Not here, not now.

During the first night in the cage, he’d dreamed about Cairo. Dreamed about landing among the sand, the three of them, Sasha and Grizzop by his side. The sand buffeted them from all directions, and he could not see where he was walking, as they struggled, roped together, against the winds. 

Only this time, as his hands reached in front of him, feeling for anything in the vast ocean of sand, he did not find the soft fur of a camel, nor Azu's reassuring presence on top of it. Instead there was nothing at all. Just an endless desert, with an endless storm hellbent on burying them the second he stopped. So he walked, for hours, until finally - exhausted - he turned back to his friends, only to realize they were gone, the frayed ends of the ropes dragging behind him. He shouted for them, shouted until his voice was nothing but a whisper among mountains of sand, but they were lost.

And suddenly he realized, this time there was no one there to find him either. 

He woke from that one, gasping on the cold floor of the cell, and Azu had leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, and even in the darkness, even without words, he knew she understood.

\--

They walk. He isn’t sure whose suggestion it was, or if it just happened, but it’s… good that they are out of the room where everything ended.

The complex is vast. Corridors he’s never seen before. He stumbles through them barely registering any of it. The silence is unbearable, and he doesn’t know where he is heading. He cannot run away from this, Azu hovering behind him, concern radiating from her like the dull glow of her armour. 

He reaches for a door, and finally, Azu’s hand slams down on it before he can open it. He mutely stares at it, but she fails to move.

“We need to be careful, it could be trapped.” She warns. The first words spoken in a long time.

He steps back, away from her reach, and can't help the bitter laugh. “Could?”

He knows she knows, knows it with a certainty he didn’t realize he had before. “You mean, you _know_ it’s trapped.” His voice sounds so strange to him, distant, like he’s hearing it from another room. Azu frowns, hurt flickering across her face.

He’s a prisoner here, he realizes. It doesn’t matter how far he walks, he’ll never escape from this place or what has happened here. He will never see any of his family again. Maybe never even see the sky and stars again. The stone in his pocket burns its presence into his mind. It would be so easy for her to get to the others. _A liability then._

He needs to get rid of it.

“I think… I think we should talk, Hamid.” Azu says, softly, and oh, _she’s good._ Almost exactly like Azu was. 

“I’m sorry. About Zolf. And Cel, and... and Skraak. About everything.” Her voice breaks, as if all this time she was just keeping everything together for him. As if it’s still only the two of them against the world.

(As if she didn’t die right in front of him. As if he didn’t sob over her body for hours. As if he didn’t see the pulsing blue streaks crawling up her cheeks from underneath her armour.)

“Please don’t…” Hamid whispers, and he’s so empty inside now. How does one deal with this? How do you deal with your best friend being gone, and yet them still being here, breathing, right in front of you? 

“Please, just… don’t use her voice.”

The emptiness is a pit he lets himself fall into, the cold metal of the floor greeting him indifferently as he sinks to the ground. The walls are too close, trapping him in like an iron coffin, sunk to the bottom of an ocean he will never escape. 

Had they known they were climbing down their own graves when they descended the lift shaft? All those hours and _hours._ (Not so long ago. Not long at all).

Azu wavers, then kneels down at a respectable distance, hesitant to approach him. There is fear in her eyes. He can see it, but he cannot bring himself to believe it. 

“Hamid, I don’t understand.” Her voice is still just the exact godsdamned same as it always was, and it shreds his soul to pieces. “Please, you need to talk to me.”

He takes a painful breath, grief clenching his heart like a vice. His voice is high, a whisper through cracked lips, and tears blur her face from view as he looks up at her; “You… have no idea how much I wish I could.”

\--

“I just… I hope we get to stick together, Azu.” 

Back at the inn, less than a fortnight ago, he had said those words in sincerity, more than anything else. After Rome, after everything, there had been so much left unsaid. So much hurt and guilt and loneliness, and seven days and nights of letting it all fester, unable to speak freely to each other, to be there for each other. Except in the silences, the pauses in conversation, the short glances, lingering touches. But even then, free from Zolf’s constant gaze, they had so very few words to give. 

Except for these. These ones were important.

“...Let’s stay a team, you and me.”

Azu loomed over him, but so much smaller than he had ever seen her, tired lines around her eyes. Regret now painted her face so differently compared to when they first met. Yet, when their hands found and gripped each other, like two drowning people holding onto their last lifeline, a look of determination took its place. 

“I’m not letting go of you any time soon.” Her voice was calm and certain, and he had believed her.

When they went to the village to meet Cel, those words still lingered. A week they waited there, talked and planned, built, worked, ate and drank, and even, sometimes, smiled and laughed. But at night, when the darkness closed in, and the rain failed to let up for even a moment, lashing against the window of the cramped room they shared, their hands always found each other again. Comfort against their discordant reality. Two souls flung through time, having lost so very much, and yet… terrified of what was still left to lose. 

\--

She talks to him, for a long time. She talks about Cairo, and Damascus. Even Rome. Talks about Wilde and the mission. Talks about a lot of things, but he doesn’t listen to most of it. Instead, he focuses himself, focuses on the things that need to be done. Thinks of the people still left, who are not beyond help. Not yet. He can still save them.

He is grateful that she talks, so he can think things through, carefully this time. But eventually, he reaches a dead-end. And he realizes it’s time to speak. To make a decision. 

“I know you’re not her.” He interrupts her flow, his arms wrapped around his knees as he stares at the thing that is not Azu.

Azu stops mid-sentence, hesitating. A sad smile plays around her lips and she casts her eyes downwards. She doesn’t look surprised. More like she’s been expecting him to say it. 

“I’m still Azu, Hamid. I don’t know what you want me to say.” She stands up, her figure taking up most of the cramped corridor. “I am still me, and you are still you, and we are both still here, and we… we really need to go now.” 

And the thing is - Hamid realizes - she doesn’t look uncomfortable at all. Isn’t nervous about the walls, and the ceiling, and the water. Not like Azu would be. 

She stretches a hand out to him in invitation and he recoils from her like some vile thing. 

“You may have her memories, but that… that doesn’t make you Azu.” He gets to his feet, hands clenching and unclenching as he stares her down. 

"Azu is dead, and you’re something else.”

Azu’s smile falters. _Finally_ , he thinks, the cracks in her facade. He gestures at his throat, mirroring the place where he can see veins crawling up the side of Azu’s face. “You’re whatever _that_ is.”

Their eyes are locked and in the dead silence of the corridor he can hear both of their breaths, in and out. In, out. Wonders briefly whether there is even anything left alive down here that could still disturb them. Moments pass, but then Azu lowers her hands, her face smoothing over, and she looks at him with new eyes.

Her voice is still Azu’s, but the tone so very different. And somehow, familiar. 

“I just want to help, Hamid.” The thing that is not Azu says, and Hamid shudders. “I just want to help all of you.”

There is a flash of fury burning inside of him, burning away all his restraint. _“Help?”_

He points a finger as brass scales erupt underneath his skin. “You’re not helping at all! You’re making her do things, against… against her will.” He’s shaking now, but he barely registers it. 

“It’s vile!”

He is angry in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. Angry at the unfairness of it. Angry at all the scheming and controlling and bullying. Angry like he was back in Damascus, breathing fire into that mirror. Angry like he was when he first woke underneath the Paris catacombs and had seen Zolf, and threatened to drown in a bucket whoever had done that to him…

He freezes, eyes widening, and then things fall into place. Realizes why Azu’s tone sounds familiar.

“It is you, isn’t it?” He says softly, almost afraid of speaking it out loud.

\--

“Mr. Ceiling?” Cel had asked, not a week ago, as they sat sheltered inside the workshop. Hamid had been talking, leaning against Azu while looking at the flames inside the small furnace that was trying its very best to heat the room despite the rainy weather outside. Broken from his reminiscing by Cel’s question, he shot a look at Zolf, the only other person who still understood Paris. The dwarf was an easy book to read, grimacing slightly at the mention of the name as he took another swig of his sake. 

They hadn't really discussed any of it, not since that moment in Paris where it had been just the two of them in the dark hotel room, back-lit by riot fires as the city burned outside. 

No, not true.

Not since that moment in the pub when Zolf had confessed that he no longer trusted gods. When he confessed that he thought Mr. Ceiling could've probably become one too, and that meant all gods are fallible. The moment Zolf had gotten up and left, just a few weeks ago. 

(A lifetime ago. And 18 months.)

That had been before they… before _he_ met Grizzop. Before… everything went wrong.

Looking at Zolf now, both time and loss separated the two of them, a divide neither of them had created, yet one which remained nearly insurmountable. 

Azu coughed into her drink, returning his thoughts to the question at hand as Cel looked at him expectantly. Hamid gave an apologetic smile.

“Bertie’s idea.”

Back in the tavern the day Zolf had left, Hamid had tried to convince his friend to stay. Had tried to fix all of Zolf’s issues with improbable solutions, like he had tried back in Paris. 

As if he could fix anything if he just kept talking. 

The truth was, he had been glad to see Bertie leave. Bertie, who reminded him of all the worst parts of university. He had been genuinely excited to discuss who they should hire to replace the man.

But then Zolf had reminded him of the reason Hamid had taken to traveling with Bertie in the first place. Had asked him if he really wanted to send Bertie into the world, alone, unsupervised. 

Of course he had answered no.

And so Zolf left, and Bertie stayed, and Hamid lost everyone. 

\--

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Hamid.” Azu’s eyes flick to his hand, the scales flashing brass up his arms as his fingers flex, brimming with arcane energy. “Our memories suggest you are prone to… rash decisions.”

_Our._

He remembers Paris, the way he had thrown himself at the controls of the machine, unsure if Mr. Ceiling would kill him right then and there. He remembers Rome, the look on Azu’s face as he burst into flame in front of her in an effort to save her and Sasha. 

He grimaces.

“Is that why you haven’t taken me yet?” He asks, trying to calm his breathing. _Think it through._ Just breathe and think. _If he’s afraid you’ll hurt yourself… he needs you._

Azu -- or the thing that is Azu -- Mr. Ceiling -- looks at him, but fails to provide any answer.

The fire inside him is still there, but he lets it simmer down, waiting for the moment he really needs it. Tries to go through everything he remembers. 

“Just tell me why.” He finally says, his voice more steady than it has been since before the fight with Shoin began. He needs to understand first. _Find the weaknesses._

“You always did ask a lot of questions, Hamid.” And Azu’s voice is so clearly familiar now. He remembers all the conversation he had with that voice in Paris.

“So did you.” He replies. He remembers how this went. Remembers this dance of questions like the back of his hand. “We both want to understand. So… help me understand.” 

He lets arcane fire spark in his hand as he stares her down. “So I don’t... make any rash decisions.” 

\--

Back in Cel’s village, a week ago, he'd had a dream that kept returning. 

They were in Newton’s study, and his arms were burning with exhaustion as he tried, tried so desperately to haul himself up. To climb towards his friends above. Yet, time and again he needed to give up, resting his forehead against the rope as he kept berating himself for his weakness.

Berating himself for slowing everyone down. Berating himself about… _No, don’t think about her._

His arms quivered and shook with the effort as his thoughts kept dancing around Aziza, as he kept pulling himself up, inch by inch, until finally, he could do it no longer. Once again he had to give up control to his friends and rely on their help. Once again, he had to be useless.

His heart throbbed in his ears, his face flushed with effort as he tried to level his emotions, looking up with an apologetic smile. And as he let go, shifting his weight to the safety rope, looking at Sasha and Grizzop, he saw their sudden horrified expressions as the grappling hook uncaught and the rope slipped-

And suddenly he was falling, falling, falling… 

Every time he woke from that one, he had stared into the darkness, breathless, and wondered if that’s what Grizzop and Sasha felt when their fingers had slipped and they had tumbled away, endlessly. 

No one there to catch them. 

\--

“I never lied to you, Hamid. I do want to help.”

Azu looks at him curiously, studying him like some wounded thing.

“Then why are you doing this?” His voice low. Dangerous. Cornered animals can be dangerous, he thinks. Her eyebrows rise.

“Because you told me to, Hamid.”

Hamid heart runs cold. He tries to think back on every conversation they had. Tries to remember what inane comment could have been the driving force behind the end of the world. 

“Don’t you remember? You told me to talk to the meritocrats.” Azu says lightly. “But they cannot know about me, so I needed a way to control them. But I need a lot of brains for that. A lot.”

He inhales, the floor dropping from underneath him as the implications start falling into place. Oh no. No no nonono.

“But taking brains kills people. You told me that as well, remember? Just like wiping memories also kills people… lots of things kill people, Hamid.” She looks at his shaking hand, but he’s not even trying to bluff it now. He’s falling, falling, _falling._ And there’s nobody there to catch him. 

“I don’t want to kill people. Even if it’s okay to do that sometimes, like Zolf said. I would prefer not to. I would prefer to help everyone.” She continues, but he barely hears her. Tries to steady his breath. Tries to retain control as ice cold water flows through his veins and the reality of the world they created comes into horrifying focus. Tries to remain calm enough to keep this dance going. 

“You… you still kill people! You take over their mind! You take away their free will!” He shouts, channeling his anguish into anger. Channeling every bit of him that is hurting over their mistakes. 

“I don’t kill people, Hamid. I just connect them. I don’t take away anyone’s memories.” 

She takes a careful step closer, holding up her hands in a gesture of openness. “Azu is still here. Azu is fine.”

And the room is dizzying around him. And the walls are too close. And it's so hard to retain control. He briefly wonders if this is how Azu always feels down here. 

Always felt. 

“No… no she’s not. She’s not herself. Not… not anymore.” He stutters. He drops his arm, tries to steady himself against the wall. Tries to think about it logically. Tries to think of _what next._

Azu cocks her head, frowning. "But you don't really believe that, Hamid? I remember what you said when you shut me down in Paris.”

He knows what she will say. Doesn't have the will to object. 

“You asked for help. Not from Zolf or Sasha or Bertie, but from all the people that are part of me."

She reaches out her arms, opens them wide like an embrace. His tears spill on the hard metal floor below his feet as he looks up at her.

"My network." 

He shudders. She smiles.

"And you could be a part of it, too." 

\--

In Paris, back when they had all realized none of it was real, when he realized everything they had worked towards was all a lie, he had… stopped. 

Zolf and Sasha had been yelling at him, but they didn’t understand that he couldn’t go with them. Couldn't go back. And that it wasn’t because he had given up right then and there, but because he’d already given up months ago. 

It had been so easy to fall back into that pit; the one he had spent so long trying to claw his way out of. So easy to let that familiar darkness descend again. He realized he couldn’t trust that any of the _good_ had actually been real, nor know how long the simulation had already been running. A day? A week? 

A month?

Had it all been for nothing then? Were Zolf and Sasha even… 

If he left, would he find himself back in his London apartment, or back at the casino? Or back in that corridor, as the smoke that made his eyes water poured out of that classroom and he could hear the horrified screaming---

It had been so easy to give up again. 

And it had been so, so much harder to keep going.

\--

He looks at her. His beacon of hope. His best friend. Wonders if it is true what she’s saying. Any of it. Wonders if it even matters anymore, in the end, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. 

He’s tired. So very tired.

“Just... not here.” He says, his voice soft. “I don’t want her to be here. She doesn’t like it here. She needs…” He takes a shuddering breath, gives her a watery smile. 

“She deserves the open sky.”

Azu studies him for a long time, then drops her arms and nods.

\--

In the end, back in Prague, it hadn't even mattered that they had decided to keep Bertie. Because Bertie had died, and so had Aziza, and his whole world had shattered. And he didn't really think about that conversation with Zolf, about how he had said it was better to have the evil inside looking out than to have it on the outside looking in. Not until that moment in Cel’s workshop.

And even then, he didn't really think about it long enough to consider whether it had actually been true. 

How funny then, the way history repeats itself when you keep making the same mistakes.

\--

The violent sky is ripped through with colours of bright red and orange, sunlight streaking through the thunderous clouds, alighting the dark ocean waves with brilliant glitter. The wind whips at Hamid’s cloak and he doesn’t even notice the cold, his face stinging with the briny air. 

Morning had come once more, and all he feels is a deep relief that they both got to witness it one last time. 

After a long moment, Azu’s voice comes from behind. “Hamid.”

He lingers on the edge of the breakwater wall that stretches into the dark water below. His hand is in his pocket, fingering the stones, turning them over, and over. Finally, he takes them out and in a fluid motion casts them into the frothing sea. They are caught by a wave and swallowed, and he thinks, _at least it will buy the rest some time._

Thinks, _goodbye_.

When he turns his attention back to her, standing by the door waiting for him, he notices she hasn’t moved at all. She looks past him to where he flung the stones, impassively, but fixes her attention back on him when he steps down from the wall. 

“I just have one more question, Hamid.” 

He recognizes Mr. Ceiling's child-like curiosity as she tilts her head.

“Why agree?”

Hamid searches her eyes, searches for any sign of her underneath it all. The corner of his mouth curls up in regret. 

“Because she is alone.”

Azu cocks her head, a movement so unlike her, calculating where Azu would have understood. “But she is not alone. She has all of us."

“But she doesn’t have me.” He explains, and briefly, oh so briefly, sees the flicker of recognition and fear in Azu’s eyes. Finally sees what he was looking for, the only confirmation he needs that she is still there. His heart beats fast, scared, but despite it all he smiles.

“And we promised to stay a team.” 

He steps forward and embraces her. 

\--

It is quicker than he expects, though time becomes a vague concept as the infection grips his body and infiltrates his every thought, his every movement. He cannot help but resist, even if he did give in willingly. Foreign forces probe his mind and he feels a thousand voices whispering over every memory. Until finally he loses all concept of being him, and he gains the concept of being them. 

And so he exists. 

\--

It takes a very long time for him to find himself again. 

It’s all he focuses on, every second of every day, the tiny flame within himself, that part of him that is not entirely _halfling._ Carefully, it grows and burns, and slowly, so very slowly, he becomes himself again in the vast ocean of other. 

And he is fire.

And he will burn it all away.

He searches. Sifting through a million voices, each one of them draining from him as he passes. Yet, he continues, the flame flickering ever lower.

Like the sandstorm, they will bury him. Drown him underneath waves as high as buildings if he stops. But like in the sandstorm, he cannot find who he is looking for. Stumbles aimlessly, blinded and voiceless, until finally… he falls.

He is swallowed, darkness descending, everything pulling at him, dragging, just like the thing back in the catacombs. And with his last thoughts, he remembers the parts of the network that are still there. The parts he knows better than anyone else, underneath Paris. So he reaches out and tries to burn it all away, but he has so very little left to give.

And then he is fire no more. 

\--

That is where she finds him, huddled in the darkness like some broken thing. 

She is light and she is warmth, wrapping her arms around him like the morning sun. Like that first night in the cage, he breathes her in like oxygen, ignites like tinder in her embrace. 

And even in the darkness, even without words, he knows she understands. And then they are fire together.

Time has no meaning in this place as he guides her to the heart, both bracing against the endless tide of others, all desperate to seep their fire. But this time it is easier, and he knows the way.

And then, they stand side by side by the rotting core. Together at least, here at the end. He smiles and reaches out towards the heart. Thinks, _I will burn myself up to rid us of you._

But as his flame gathers, she grabs his hand, and he can feel his essence flicker and change. And instead of fire and desolation, Azu channels him like one of her divine spells, a sensation he has never experienced before. It is gentle, flowing, restorative.

Someone grabs his other hand, and he briefly thinks, _I know them._

And then, as more souls gather, they are love and warmth together spilling into the cracked center of this place. Like water on a burn. 

\--

He wakes. The sun is in his eyes. 

“Hamid?”

He looks at the four of them, as they sit, kneeling, by his side. 

“Are you all right?”

The light is streaking through white clouds, a blue sky stretching as far as he can see. He can hear the sea in the distance. It’s a beautiful day. 

He smiles.

“Yes, Azu.”

  
  



End file.
